


Dogs Don't Lie

by canadduh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Cas as a dog, Cat Gabriel (Supernatural), Catbriel, Dog Castiel (Supernatural), Dogstiel, Emotional Support Dog Cas, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gabriel as a cat, Gen, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy Dog, Therapy Dog Cas, emotional support dog, literal fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 10:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16993542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canadduh/pseuds/canadduh
Summary: After retiring from hunting Dean and Sam move out of the bunker. Things get worse before they get better.Cas is not the angel that saves Dean. Cas is the dog that saves Dean.





	Dogs Don't Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> First, I'd love to start off by giving my undying gratitude to [nickelkeep](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ) for beta-ing this fic. She did a lovely job and I thoroughly enjoyed working with her. 
> 
> Second, I'd love to invite you to join [ProfoundBond Discord](https://discord.gg/GGbw2NP). This wouldn't have happened without them. 
> 
> Third, A huge hug to [Unforth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth) for inspiring this. Go read her works, they are really good!

It hurts to think of it now that everything’s over, but his life was much simpler when he was a demon. Easier. Almost pure. 

There was no one to protect but himself. No one to save. Everything was black and white, and his favorite color was black.

Hell, it was the first and only time in his life Dean had put himself first.

Purgatory was another simple time. Kill or be killed. Also black and white, but there his favorite color was survival. He put his need to get back to Sam before his own safety. Before Benny’s life. 

He still has nightmares of hell. They blend in with memories of Purgatory and losing Sam, and the mark, and Charlie and Kevin and every other person he couldn’t save. 

He wishes he didn’t have to sleep. 

Not that he sleeps much anyways but his four hours are riddled with blood and fire and pain. He hurts and he burns and he is both receiving and causing this pain and it’s tearing him down. Breaking him apart and soon he’ll cease to exist, turned back to the atoms that make him up. 

Maybe then he’ll find peace. 

The bed is a rock in his back, its usual softness ceases to exist. He’s bruised and broken and bloodied and he can’t breathe. His vision narrows in the dark, the tunnel shimmering, drawing him in, taking the pain away. Soon he’ll be nothing. Perhaps he already is. 

A weight comes down on across his stomach. It centers him, forces him to breathe out. When the weight shifts Dean follows the instinct to breathe in. The tunnel widens, sound comes back, and his body shakes. He’s covered in sweat but the warm weight doesn’t care. 

When he can move again Dean lifts his hand to pet the weight. He sighs when it aligns with him, head across his chest and breathes teasing his neck. 

“Cas,” Dean croaks, gripping the warm fur and letting it pull him back, away from the depths and destruction and the pain that he’s caused. 

He’s done with that life and he’s never going back. 

* * *

The light bleeds through his curtains and Dean regrets letting Sam pick them out. He’d been retired for two months when he moved. Everything had been too much for too long and he couldn’t keep up any more. Six months in Sam had come home with a blue-eyed dog and Dean had finally,  _ finally,  _ started to get better.

After a quick breakfast Dean heads into the garage, Cas at his heels, panting in the muggy heat. Soon Dean will take a look at the air conditioner but today he has to get his hands on his car. The need sings through his blood and the pull is irresistible. 

The garage is cooler than the house but not by much. After setting water out for Cas, Dean turns his attention to the beauty in front of him and starts in on his work. The engine could use some fine-tuning, so Dean starts with that, detailing the engine and ensure everything’s in working order. 

Not that he drives much anymore. After losing consciousness at the wheel Dean is hesitant to drive again. He misses the purr of the engine and the power he always feels when he’s the one in control. He hasn’t been in control of much lately. 

But he’s getting better. 

He doesn’t know how long he works but at some point, Cas starts whining and pawing at Dean’s leg, so Dean takes a break. Sitting on the garage floor with a cold water bottle — he’s never had alcohol in this house and refuses to go down that path — and Cas leaning into his side Dean lets his mind wander. 

It’s a double-edged sword when he does that. Sometimes his thoughts are good. He’ll think of Sam, out at the library doing research for some hunter or another, and he’ll appreciate what he has right now. But then his thoughts will take a darker turn and he’ll think of why Sam’s doing research and he’ll start to feel useless, useless, useless. 

Cas licks his face and Dean works his way back to the present. There is dirt and grime in his head, on his hands, on his soul. But here sits this dog. This innocent creature with bright blue eyes and a head tilt like he wants to make sure Dean’s okay. Cas thinks he’s good. He chooses to stay with Dean, to follow him and bring him back from the edge. Cas thinks he’s good and dogs don’t lie. 

So maybe he is good. 

* * *

Sam’s home today. He doesn’t live at the bunker anymore either, choosing to stay with Dean. In Dean’s home, where Dean can provide for him. Where Dean can feel useful and wanted and appreciated.

Sam’s home today and Dean’s stuck in his room. He knows he’s not really stuck, all he needs to do is get out of bed and open the door and he’ll be free to do what he wants with the day. 

But he can’t move. 

He let Cas out that morning then shut his door and fell into bed and into sleep. The fire burned right away with the pain and the suffering, and everything. He was getting better, better enough that he could help Sam occasionally. He may have retired but he wasn’t useless. 

But maybe he was? 

Useless and broken and a shell of a man. 

There’s whining at his door. Scratch, scratch, scratch and suddenly Dean’s no longer in his room. He’s at the hotel, years ago. Back when he was confident and scared and not quite broken. There’s huffing in his ears and it burns and drags and claws at his skin. He’s being torn apart and no amount of pleading and begging and shouting can help.

_ Dean.  _

He’s in hell again. The chains rattle across his skin like snakes, biting into him, tearing him up, chewing, and spitting him out. He dies over and over, and over and he’s brought back each time. A shell. Broken. 

Useless. 

_ Dean!  _

There’s whining in Dean’s ear now, something wet and cold. It’s familiar and welcome and he focuses on the sensation. Dean lets the smooth warm sensation bring him back, take him out of himself. 

Cas licks across his face, sure and smooth and exactly what Dean needs to be reminded that he’s home. He’s safe; he’s not a monster. 

Cas thinks he’s good and dogs don’t lie. 

* * *

Two years.

Dean’s been out of the life for two years now.

He’s working consistently at a garage on the other side of town. Fixing up old junkers and selling them to collectors and old men — though they’re usually one and the same. 

He goes on runs with Cas in the morning, the dog on his heels and wind in his face. He feels happy some days. Like maybe, just maybe, this is all worth it.

He doesn’t go to bars anymore, but Dean likes to spend his mornings in the coffee shop just down the road from his house. It’s a nice reminder that there are other people who have normal people problems and while he won’t ever be like them maybe his problems aren’t the end of the world. 

Not anymore. 

“I’m back, Cas,” Dean greets the dog-shaped pile of soft black fur with a wagging tail. He kneels down to hug his friend — and Dean never thought he’d call a dog a friend before but that’s what Cas is. 

For dinner, he makes burgers, one for him, one for Cas, a third for Sam. He whips up a salad for Sam as well and leaves his burger in the oven to keep warm. He eats out back with Cas leaning against his leg, a cold water bottle, and the feeling that he’s exactly where he needs to be.

Dean starts to sneeze almost immediately when Sam walks in an hour later. His brother has fur around his neck and the fur is  _ purring _ and he’s about to say no, absolutely not, when Cas starts to whine, and his tail wags faster than Dean’s ever seen it move. 

The cat immediately jumps off Sam’s shoulders to the floor in front of Cas. Dean’s jealous of the graceful landing. The cat greats the dog like they’re old friends and honestly? Dean wouldn’t be surprised if they were. After the life he’s lived, Dean doesn’t think anything’s impossible anymore. 

Highly unlikely? Yes. Impossible? No. 

“He jumped on my shoulders,” Sam says sheepishly like it’s his fault the cat is invading Dean’s house and now Dean’s gonna need a lifetime supply of Claritin and his eyes are watering. And hey, wait, it is Sam’s fault. “He’s such a scrawny little guy, Dean. I couldn’t just leave him” 

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean assures. And it is. Sam’s done so much for Dean. He brought Cas into his life. He stayed even when Dean yelled at him, when Dean blamed him for all the pain Dean had to bear. “What’s his name?” 

“Gabriel,” Sam smiles softly at the animals. Cas has his head tilted– a trait Dean had assumed he would’ve grown out of at some point—and Gabriel is staring at him, mewing like he’s telling Cas a story, an adventure that he’s been on. “Gabe for short.”

Dean nods then sneezes, then sneezes again. He curses and goes into the bathroom in search of allergy medicine. Anything to help, anything at all. 

“Castiel, meet Gabriel,” He hears Sam say, “you two best behave, y’hear me?” 

Dean grins, downs the Claritin, and heads back out so he can get to know his new housemate. 

* * *

Gabe likes to get into things. It frustrates Dean to no end. But then the cat will headbutt Dean’s leg and purr and all will be forgiven.

He’s not sure when he became a pushover, but here he is. 

The very first night Gabe got into the sugar and since then it’s been in the cupboard, away from thieving kitty paws. A week after that Gabe ate half an apple pie that Dean had made, and Dean nearly threw the cat out.

But the damned purring and the headbutting and yeah, Dean’s a pushover.

The first time Sam left to help on a hunt after Gabe came into their lives was a disaster. Cas was whining and Gabe was missing and Sam was cranky and Dean was a mess — not that that’s news anymore. 

But then Gabe was with Sam and Cas was fine and Dean was still a mess. 

Cas brought him back to himself and life went on. 

* * *

Dean is having a bad day. The first one in a while and so the low feels lower than he’s used to. He’s on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at his hands. His vision is blurry and his chest is heavy and he doesn’t know how to breathe, how to think, how to exist.

Cas is lying warm on his feet and it helps, it really does. It’s grounding and exactly what Cas is trained to do. But this time it’s not enough. The edge is closer than usual and his hands are shaking and his vision is grey now and the tunnel is drawing closer and. He. Can’t. Breathe. 

Something warm and velvety smooth drapes over his shoulders and Dean lets the heat seep into the muscles. It chases away the fire, cools his skin. It erases the pain, not entirely —never entirely. But it’s not so strong anymore, it no longer consumes him. 

He’s a person again, no longer an amalgamation of sensation.

Dean weakly pats the couch next to him and the dog jumps up before crawling into his lap. Cas is a steady presence, and between him and Gabe on his shoulders, Dean falls into an easy rest. 

He falls into peace, ready for the future. 


End file.
